Lurking, Wanting, Wrong
by Satan Abraham
Summary: The way Roger felt about Jack was weird; way different than he'd ever felt about anyone ever before. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he'd deal with it anyway. Oneshot.


It was hot. The jungle was too hot, but Jack hadn't said to take anything off yet, and Roger allowed himself no more than to loosen his collar a bit. They kept marching, Roger keeping his eyes on the back of Jack's head.

Eventually they stopped marching - good thing, too, Simon looked like he'd been about to faint - when they got to a group of different kids. They'd been following a weird noise, like a trumpet, almost. Turned out it had been a conch, blown by a blonde kid.

Simon fainted.

Roger rolled his eyes and helped them drag the kid into some shade. He was standing nearest, after all. Roger then took his customary spot at the very edge of the group.

He barely noticed when everyone gave their names. He muttered "Roger," quickly and resumed his staring at the ground - a little watching of Jack, too, but point that out and he would kill you. Roger took off his tog with the others.

And then Jack was going off with that idiotic blonde kid and Simon - why was Simon going, anyway? Simon was... whatever... and he'd fainted, who was to say he wouldn't faint again.

He could glare at the youngest ones. The little ones that were scrambling around, falling over, that sort of thing. One of them, one of the smallest ones, decided that it would be funny to fall and land on Roger's knees.

Roger was less than pleased. He sent his best glare at the kid and the kid screamed, running off. Roger allowed a small smirk to cross his normally emotionless features.

"That's not very nice."

The fat one. Oh joy. Roger turned to face him. "It's none of your concern."

"You shouldn't-"

"Shut up. Nobody cares what you think," Roger said, a bit of Jack slipping into his tone. The fat one looked hurt - Piggy, was it? - and moved away, muttering something about his asthma and auntie and that damn conch.

A while later the stupid conch was blown again. Roger hadn't moved, but many of the other boys had gone exploring. Ralph started talking about something stupid, like fire on top of the mountain... Roger followed the other boys out of habit, building the fire quickly. It burned up half of the island.

And then it was nighttime. They were using their togs as blankets. Roger had sneaked up to sleep beside Jack, who commanded a five foot privacy radius. Roger ignored the privacy radius and, seeing Jack shiver under his tog, added his own on top of it. He curled beside the nearest three, falling asleep a few seconds later.

"Who..."

Roger's eyes snapped open at the first sound. Jack was sitting up, looking extremely confused, both togs draped over his legs. Roger sat up, smoothing his hair down, ignoring that stubborn piece in the front that refused to do anything he wanted it to.

"Roger?"

Roger nodded. "You looked cold," he muttered. Jack blinked.

"Thanks," he said. Roger nodded and stood up.

"I'm going to go check on something," he said, disappearing into the trees. A few minutes later he could be seen leaning against a tree, fingernails digging into his palms.

"Bloody island..." he muttered.

* * *

Ralph had been taking up too much of Jack's time. How did Ralph get all of Jack's attention without even trying? Roger was always by Jack's side - he was always there, always providing comfort or food or warmth... and Ralph just a random blonde guy that immediately got attention.

Maybe if Roger was a little less antisocial - no, he couldn't. Roger couldn't become something he wasn't, even if it was for Jack. He'd just have to tough it out. Ralph would disappoint Jack sometime. And when he did, Roger would be there to try Jack's tears.

Figuratively, of course. He didn't think Jack would cry, and if he did, well, then Jack had been a little too attached to Ralph. However 'attractive' Ralph was, he was an idiot. An idiot who hung around fat people.

* * *

Jack was scared of him now. Roger knew it. But... but at least that got his attention, right? Any attention from Jack was good. So Roger pressed on with his insanity and his darkness and his tendency to be slightly demonlike. Without the restraints that usually held him, he was free. He was completely free, and as long as it didn't alienate Jack from him, it was good.

It was good.

He'd been wandering around with Maurice when it happened. Roger didn't mind Maurice. He was a good person to hang around with when Jack wasn't available. Of course, with Jack it was more like Roger was lurking, but that didn't matter.

They'd stumbled across Jack bathing.

This wouldn't be anything worth mentioning, of course, other than the fact that Jack always bathed away from the others, he always stuck to himself when it came to private things like that. And they probably should have realized that Jack was up ahead when they heard that voice.

One of the only reasons Roger had joined the choir was to hear that voice. He loved that voice. And while Roger wasn't too bad at singing himself - he had to be good at singing, otherwise he wouldn't have been permitted to join - there was something angelic about Jack's soprano.

Jack had turned red - well, redder than he was already, under all the sunburned skin. Roger had felt heat flush his face, too. Maurice let none of this bother him and stripped, joining Jack in the pool.

Roger didn't really know why he and Maurice were going to go for a swim in the middle of the night, but they were, and it was a full moon. Plenty of light.

Roger retreated into the trees, muttering apologies, leaving the splashing and laughter of Maurice breaking the ice behind him. He decided that he wasn't going back to the others that night. He'd stay out in the woods. The beast wasn't real. He didn't believe in the beast. It was just them. Him and Maurice, Sam and Eric, Ralph and Piggy, Simon and Jack.

Speaking of Simon, there he was, stumbling through the trees. "Hello, Roger," Simon said, moving past him and heading toward the shelters. Roger blinked. They were in the shade of the trees; how had Simon known it was him immediately?

Whatever. Simon was weird.

* * *

"Who wants me for chief?"

Roger wished he had been paying better attention. Jack was racing off in tears. This was basically his perfect opportunity to escape. Roger slipped into the trees and followed Jack at a distance, approaching him when the time was right.

"What are you doing here? You don't want me as chief."

Roger smirked. "Wrong."

Jack smiled.

* * *

**Um, I found this in my Lord of the Flies folder and thought it was pretty good, so I decided to post it. Cx Why not, right? Just random. I love writing in Roger's perspective.**

**I'm pretty sure I was going to go through the whole book with this, but, oh well. That seemed like a good ending there.**


End file.
